


and it was all yellow

by torasame



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Icarus and the sun, M/M, Orion and the Moon, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torasame/pseuds/torasame
Summary: This is how Tsukishima put the stars in the sky.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Tsukishima Kei, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 53





	and it was all yellow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kouxhii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kouxhii/gifts).



> To my dear friend Kou,  
> Well, you’ve aged. You’ve already gone through the torment of that one ABBA song I blasted at you so I’ll save you the trouble. It’s been about ten months since we first talked and somehow became friends. I guess krtsk does bring people together <3  
> But brain rot aside, I am very glad I got the chance to meet you. Our initial chats were super awkward (mostly on my part) and I’m so sorry for putting you through that so I thank you for putting up with it. I’m thankful for the opportunity to be your friend and I want you to know that you are a (clown) very good person, you are talented, you work exceptionally hard and you need to take a break before I throw hands and sue you in open court. Thank you for all your efforts, thank you for all the chats we’ve had, thank you for all the laughs over discord calls. Thank you for teaching this little bitch to finally use emojis more often and to not give a declaration of alliance every time he tries to talk to someone. Thank you for everything and the rest to come.  
> I wish you all the best in whatever you want to accomplish. Your work ethic (no matter how questionable) is admirable and you deserve all the happiness and fulfillment in this life. I will always be here for you. I will do my best to encourage, listen and support you as you have done for me. I’m sorry for reverting back to normal speech, but I find myself indulging in more honesty when it comes to writing.  
> With all that aside, happy birthday Kou.  
> Here is a story about our boys based on your favourite colour.  
> shamless plugs: [Kou’s Insta](https://www.instagram.com/kou.xhii/) and [Kou’s Twitter](https://twitter.com/kouxhii)   
> Go show her some love!  
> (song: Yellow by Coldplay)

Tsukishima isn’t entirely sure what he is to people. It’s not as though he minds, but the numerous perceptions tend to throw him off at times. They stick to their beliefs like gospel, that’s what he’s noticed over the years. Someone pieces something together out of thin air and somehow, it eventually moves to become the truth. It’s like a never ending back and forth between who and what to believe in.

He’s heard some of them claim him to be some celestial force, never with any fixed origin. He’s heard some of them claim him to be a god, a deity in control of the seasons and omnipotent enough to deal with omens. As fun as it all sounds, he himself doesn’t exactly know who or what he is. Maybe that’s the irony in the situation, with uncertainty being the only certainty he or anyone else has.

Existentialism aside, he sticks with what he’s known for the centuries that passed. He doesn’t quite remember the start, he doesn’t know where it all began. One day, he blinked and here he was, sitting in his place in the dark sky, watching lost souls and clouds traverse to a horizon he will probably never see. He sits as the light in the inherent absence of it. He watches the wolves howl, the deer dance and the owls soar and hunt. He is, as he was named, the moon.

Light catches at the ends of the sky like a fire burning away at the edges of parchment. The dawn rises when the night sets, he doesn’t have to spare a glance to the sun to know he’s arrived. The sky paints itself a different hue, the night turns into day and he perches himself on a hill. He fragments himself from the sky and touches down on the soft bed of grass, the traces of blueness disappearing in the light of the morning. The colours are always far too bright, it hurts his eyes to see it up close sometimes.

He spends the day on that hill, spectating the muted scenery of a town from a distance. He sees blobs of people gathering around, he feels their laughter against the wind as it brushes past him. He feels the warmth against his chilled skin. He sees life resume, he sees philosophers come out to preach whatever epiphanies they concluded, he sees children running around and others chat among themselves. He sees smoke from temples to whichever gods they have decided to believe in, he vaguely remembers a few being built on his behalf, but he does not hear their prayers. But they don’t know that.

The sky begins to bleed. He stands against the breeze and makes his descent. He’s heard them speak of the sunset like it was art, like it was something beautiful. But they do not know a thing. His feet sink into the sand, his thoughts dull in his ears. The sea is as crimson as the sky above it and he knows it is anything but beautiful. The waves still beneath his stride, he is there when the sun reaches into the ocean and lets out a cry only he can hear. He stands, a few metres away from the rock the sun sets himself on. Hinata’s orange glow stops at the arm that had been submerged in the water. It’s grey, desaturated. 

Purple and blue spread into the red when Tsukishima remains where he stands while Hinata crumbles into inaudible sobs. Gradually, the light in his body dims, but Tsukishima knows it won’t go out. Not tonight. Hinata slowly learns to breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” he utters into the quiet. Tsukishima can taste the salt in the air, but it does not sting his eyes. The words seem to sink into the water around them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tsukishima says, knowing there is nothing more to be said. He glances up at the sky that’s in a more familiar shade to him, the moon hangs over them with only the crescent of light shining through. He understands.

He leaves once Hinata’s arm returns to a slightly dimmer complexion.  _ This _ , he thinks to himself,  _ this is not beauty _ . They will never understand this pain. They will never know of why the sun reaches into the sea and bleeds itself dry. They will never know of the young lad with wings strewn together with wax and how he had enchanted the sun. They will never know how that young, foolish boy flew too close, they will never know of the earth shattering moment when the ocean swallowed him whole. There were no words he could say to stop Hinata from reaching into the depths in the fruitless effort of reaching the boy. There were no words that could bring him back.

The night returns and the cycle repeats. The days move on and no one but the moon, the sun, and whoever else bothered enough to listen knew of the truth. That’s all Tsukishima has known, all that he is certain of. When Tsukishima isn’t lingering in the sky, he is wandering the woods, casting his arrows into the black canvas above. He’s heard the humans have called them “shooting stars” and for once, he doesn’t mind. There’s a poetic grace to it.

“I hear there’s news of a skilled hunter circling around,” Hinata says after what he thinks to be eternities, the sun’s eyes are too dry for tears.

“What difference does it make?”

Hinata shrugs, he’s squatting by the rocks as the gold sets into the sea. “I thought you’d want to see it for yourself.”

Hinata's smile is cheeky, teasing almost. It's been quite a while since he's seen it, though he tells himself it's not the reason he sits among a clearing of deer that night, keeping watch for this hunter to make their appearance. It doesn’t take long for one of the fawns to wander from the herd with its mother following close behind. He trudges past tree roots and makes the outline of a profile a few metres away.

The hunter is probably as tall as he is, his hair an unruly mess as dark as the night above them, his bow is worn from its faithfulness of the years. Some part of him notes that the years overlap that of the young man. There’s a quiet breath, inaudible enough not to alert the dear, but enough for Tsukishima to fall into trance.

An arrow is loaded, it’s moments before the bow is aimed and the string pulls back, Tsukishima’s own breath with it. It’s grace does not belong to a human. Without desperation, without malice and in the quiet air, the hunter lets go. He does not need to look to confirm the kill, to know where the arrow has pierced. He has seen it enough times to fill a lifetime and more. It’s as though he’s switched perspectives, from the prodigal fawn to an owl in the trees.

The hunter doesn’t move for quite a while, his steps come quiet, solemn. Like he’s walking a funeral march. Like he’s approaching the altar. He kneels to the animal, carefully removing the arrow from her neck and running a hand over her fur. This time, Tsukishima imagines her breathing.

It's a temporary change, he thinks, a distraction for the loop he has been caught in for so long. He returns to the woods after sunsets. He finds the strange hunter in its quiet corners, he finds him tying knots in strange contraptions, he finds him kneeling over fresh tracks and following them. He watches the hunts he makes, free of animalistic bloodlust, free of savagery. Sometimes, he finds him sitting in the depressions of tree roots, staring at the space in front of him or up at the stars. 

He trails behind the shadows the stretch from beneath the hunter’s feet in the dawns that follow. Tsukishima remains among the clouds in the morning, watching the strange hunter. He does not know what to make of it, unsure of what he was expecting to find. He thinks it’s just another unexplainable phenomena, where people grow quieter in the depths of the night. It’s the first time he’s seen the huntsman smile, his laugh is boisterous and carries the energy of those around him. Tsukishima would have dusted it off, but the phantom of an unplaceable feeling remains in the uncharacteristically gentle way the huntsman cannot seem to mask. But it isn’t as though anyone has paid notice. No one except Tsukishima.

When the noon falls into place, the crowds thin and the light dims, the hunter remains in the company of a young man who does not seem to regard the hunter’s almost one-sided conversations. The moon rises and the hunter walks alone, back into the woods.

There’s a breath, a pause before the arrow is loaded. There’s another breath, and that’s when Tsukishima’s eyes dart to the left. There’s a shot that whistles through the air, a dull thud vibrates in the ground. The hunter finally finds the wild hog, pierced straight in the heart with a single silver arrow. Soft galloping dances on the silence that lapses over them, it barely registers to him. Tsukishima can’t help but stare. The hunter’s eyes glow like gold in the moonlight.

He plucks the arrow from the boar’s hide, “for the fawn.”

That’s all he says before he descends further into the woods, feeling the hunter’s presence draw further and further away.

* * *

“Who are we?” Hinata looks up from his knees. His eyes red, dry, struggling to supply the tears to drown the sadness. “Who are we?” Tsukishima repeats once more, unsure who he’s really asking.

The wind does not answer him, but the sun does, “I don’t know.”

* * *

Against all greater reason, he wanders into the woods again. He half expects the rustling of leaves, but turns in alarm when he traces the noise to the space behind him. An arrow finds is drawn within a blink, the tip mere centimetres away from the base of a throat. Golden eyes find him, wide in slight alarm.

“Sorry, sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Tsukishima lowers his bow.

“Have you been following me?”

The huntsman smiles just as he’s seen times before, “I could ask you the same thing.”

He overlooks the heat that creeps up his neck.

“What kind of a hunter would I be if I didn’t notice?”

“The kind to miss a wild boar.” He flinches at the laugh. It’s too warm for this time of the night.

“Fair point. That was an impressive shot, by the way.”

Tsukishima nods, “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” the hunter adds, “for saving me.”

“Pay attention next time.”

He’s laughing again, the gold of his eyes crinkles, “will do.”

Tsukishima is about to turn away when the huntsman speaks up again.

“Kuroo,” he says, “Kuroo Tetsurou.”

It was only common courtesy for him to reply, “Tsukishima. Tsukishima Kei.”

The hunter—  _ Kuroo _ , insists on conversation. He’s half of what Tsukishima has observed during the day, but it isn’t unwelcomed. He finds himself stumbling over words, catching himself with the thought of the last time he had conversed with anyone for anymore than a few words, let alone a  _ human.  _ But then again, Kuroo seems used to filling the gaps in an almost one-sided conversation.

When the morning comes, Tsukishima finds himself surprised by the sound of his own laughter. He and Kuroo are sprawled on the bed of grass, bows to their sides and the ever changing sky above them. Kuroo tries to read the clouds, tries to decipher their shapes and the ludicrous omens neither of them believe in, and Kuroo is adamantly trying to persuade Tsukishima of the validity of his prediction.

“The clouds do not lie, Tsukishima!” Kuroo cries out, “tomorrow will be the best day of your life. Though, you will trip on a rock and scrape your knees.”

“And what will be so great about tomorrow?” He makes out the orange peeking past the purple, “or today, rather.”

“That depends on you.” 

Tsukishima’s laugh is breathless, “stick to hunting. You’re no good as a fortune teller or whatever they’re calling it now.”

“Omens are quite vague anyway,” Kuroo says when he sits up, brushing the grass from his back and his arms, “no one really knows what’ll happen tomorrow.”

He pushes himself up with his arms, humming in agreement. “That’s true, you could tell someone tomorrow could be terrible and they’d find a reason based on the smallest of things to say the fortune holds true.”

“We look for certainty for a sense of control, for a sense of certainty,” Kuroo’s gaze falls from the pastel sky and into his own. Gold twinkles in the dawn they’re caught in. “But we do still have control. Tomorrow could be the best day of your life to believe it to be. You could fall on the rocks and scrape your knee then proceed to answer the universe’s greatest question, whatever it may be.”

“You’re quite the philosopher.” Kuroo stands, offering his hand out to Tsukishima. He doesn’t need it, but he takes it. 

“They get it right once in a while. I guess everyone can be a philosopher in their own way.”

“Is that what you would consider yourself then?”

Kuroo looks up, in the short time they’ve had together, Tsukishima concludes it’s his way of wistful thinking. “To other people, I could be.”

“And to yourself?”

Kuroo smiles, “I’m a lot of things, but generally, I am myself.”

“I would reconsider ‘philosopher’,” he says flatly, Kuroo laughs (as he usually does.)

“The few certainties we have include that of ourselves. I am who I am, and for this lifetime, I will be me.”

Tsukishima can’t help but stare at the sight before him. The bright colours cause Kuroo’s profile to stick out drastically, from his dark hair and yukata. When he thinks about it, he guesses both of them are about the same in the early hours of the day. Both far too nocturnal, too detached from the world around them. Kuroo’s golden eyes leave him wondering if Kuroo can see the world as Tsukishima does— he wonders if Kuroo knows much more than he does.

“I’ll be seeing you, Tsukishima.”

He says nothing and watches Kuroo’s back walk away like a shadow cutting through the saturated hues.

* * *

Tsukishima meets Kuroo by the woods every night. He finds himself caught in the stories Kuroo tells him, of his own thoughts of the universe. He wonders how much more is going on underneath Kuroo’s mess of hair, he sees glimpses through the glinting intensity behind the hunter’s eyes.

Kuroo tells him about his childhood, about how his father taught him how to hunt and the very first doe he took down. He tells him about the quiet boy he hangs around on those late afternoons, about how Kuroo believes his childhood best friend to be some incarnate form of genius. For once, Tsukishima does not find it hard to believe. 

“I knew I’d find you here,” Kuroo tells him on one of those nights, his bow is slung over his shoulder along with his quiver.

The herd takes notice, Kuroo remains still until they return to feeding on the grass. Tsukishima reaches to caress a startled doe. “How so?”

“The game always seem to gather around you.”

“I hope you aren’t conversing with me in hopes of using me as bait.” Kuroo plops onto the grass beside his feet, bow and arrows slipping off onto the space beside him. A fawn cautiously moves toward him and Kuroo reaches to pet her beside the ears.

“I’m wounded by the notion, I’m not some meatheaded hunter, Tsukki,” he overlooks the nickname Kuroo has elaborately created. But he’s right, and he thinks they’re both aware of that by now.

“And what about you?” Kuroo asks, they’re staring up at the sky again. Tsukishima stares into a space further away, reaching for the depths of his mind for something to say. It always leads back to one though, a single being.

“My older brother taught me how to hunt,” he says quietly as though glass would shatter if he spoke any louder, “he made my bow.”

“It’s a beautiful craft.”

“That’s what everyone told him too, though he never seemed to believe it.”

Kuroo’s head turns, he meets them in the minute gap between their faces, “that must be something you both have in common then.”

That’s when he sees it. Kuroo’s eyes are yellow like the stars.

“Perhaps,” he breathes. “Perhaps.”

Kuroo stares back up at the sky. Tsukishima takes a little longer to look away.

* * *

The chasm in his chest spreads like a wildfire. Orange falls into the ocean and Tsukishima feels as though he too is in a free fall. The world spins, the deafening silence rings in his ears. His mind goes dull, his breath comes faster than it should. He claws at the sky, he grasps for the air only to sink into his own palm.

He finds a stream and crumples to the ground when the first wave of hot tears overtake him. It’s in these nights where an unexplainable numbness takes over, demanding tears to be spilled until Tsukishima cries himself dry. The moon does not shine in the sky.

Slowly, he tells himself to breathe through the rivers he cries. He thinks of the current beneath him, the leaves rustling. He thinks of golden eyes and a bright smile. When he raises his head, he finds them, staring at him from across the water. The smile drops politely, and he hears the water rushing against each step Kuroo takes. It doesn’t take long for Kuro to bridge the gap, he stands over Tsukishima, kneeling to his level and bringing him into his arms.

It’s warm. Kuroo is as warm as the colour in his eyes. He can’t fully comprehend the situation when the tears begin falling once more. When the gates in his chest flood open and he buries himself further into Kuroo's chest. He feels punctuated beats against his own, he settles on counting them, every single one as he struggles for his bearings and to remember what this phenomenon is called. When he manages to gather his breath, he realizes it's what he knows to be a heart.

"Stars," Kuroo says after an eternity once Tsukishima pulls away from him. He briefly registers the hands barely ghosting over his cheeks. There's a brief touch, and Kuroo's palm is still warm.

Tsukishima scoffs, voice still as dry as his eyes, "you say that so calmly."

Kuroo pulls his hand away, "is there any other way to react?"

He rubs the remnants of light out of his eyes, catching a glimpse of them before they evaporate to take their places in the sky. "I assumed most would be afraid, question me maybe."

"I don't need to ask about something I already know," Kuroo plops down on the space beside him, their shoulders press against each other, "or what I assume I know."

"And what do you think you know?" It's pointless to ask and Kuroo knows better. But just as Tsukishima asks, he answers.

"You're the moon, aren't you?" Kuroo draws his legs out of the stream and crosses them in front of him. "Most would say a deity, a god, a spirit maybe."

"But you don't."

"You didn't make it too hard to put two and two together," Tsukishima rolls his eyes when Kuroo laughs, his weight shifting toward him for a moment. "There aren't many people with golden bows and certainly aren't any who still manage to glow in the dead of night. But if you were to ask me about who or what exactly you are… I don't think it'd be my place to say."

He measures the weight of his question in his mind, but the scales do not settle on a number. "And who am I? To you, I mean."

Kuroo follows the stars rising to the sky, "you're one of the greatest huntsmen I've ever met, possibly the best, but maybe you're desensitised to your own abilities. You're intelligent, precise, deliberate and gentle. You're direct and curious, unused to company let alone human contact. And there's a lot more I don't know about you, but seeing as we've gotten all—" he gestures to the space around them, spreading his arms out," _ this _ aside, I'd like to be able to learn."

"You're…" Tsukishima pauses, "you're very human."

"And you're a guy who cries stars."

He stifles a laugh, "and that doesn't bother you in the slightest?"

"I'm more or so concerned about the reason why you're crying. If you're comfortable telling me, that is."

They're staring up at the stars now, Tsukishima feels exposed, as though his unspoken confession has already been written out in the open. He wonders if Kuroo could decipher his message, unscrambling the patterns to paint the picture of the numbness he could not explain. But the stars did not speak, they were nothing but tears.

"Sometimes, I don't know who I am."

"No one really ever does," Kuroo says, "but know with certainty that in the end, you are just you. You'll be the only one to piece an image together."

"Kuroo."

"Hm?"

"What did you do earlier? When you wrapped your arms around me."

Kuroo blinks, "you mean a hug?" Tsukishima nods.

"How does it work? As far as I am aware, humans do not possess supernatural powers."

"It's nothing like that," Kuroo's laughter seeps into his words. "It's just a way to comfort someone, to show them that someone is with them. It's a way to share warmth as well."

"But I am not human."

"That may be true, but perhaps even the moon gets lonely too." Tsukishima does not respond to that. A silence falls over them before Kuroo clears his throat and speaks up again. "Would you like me to hug you again?"

"If… if it's not too much to ask."

Kuroo guides his head onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around him once more. Tsukishima rests his head on the hunter's collar, settling against the space he had felt Kuroo's heartbeat. He finds it again. It's far too warm for this season, but it doesn’t stop them.

* * *

There are three things that cannot be hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. When Tsukishima thinks of that proverb again, he wonders if the stars should be the fourth addition. Hinata notices, though it would take a blind man not to. But Hinata isn’t like Kuroo, Hinata does not play the mental games they do. Hinata does not know Tsukishima’s next move, he does not move to cut him off. And maybe it’s why it catches him so off guard.

“Tobio told me something once.” It’s the first time in an age since Hinata has even dared to utter the name, “he told me he wanted to fly up to the stars one day, to see them up close.”

Tsukishima forces himself still when the tide moves beneath his feet. “He wouldn’t have liked what he’d find.”

Hinata glances up at him, bright eyes housing a demure intelligence, asking the unforeseeable questions that puncture Tsukishima with pinpoint accuracy. The waves carry him for a second before he regains his footing. He doesn’t understand how Hinata does it.

How does he manage to look at Tsukishima with such sympathy? How does he overlook the fact he bleeds into the ocean and the sky every single day? How does he overlook the years of turmoil? Of grief? The fact that Tobio is  _ gone _ ? How does he overlook his suffering for the few tears Tsukishima has shed over pain he does not feel?

The waves circle with the sharp turn he takes, he wakes away, pretending not to feel Hinata's stare burning into his back, marking him with his own denial.

* * *

"The stars told me something."

"The stars mean nothing," is the automatic response. He winces when he processes the tone, but Kuroo continues without missing a beat. If anything, he seems to expect it.

“There’s something weighing on your mind,” Kuroo points out, “they tend to glow brighter when it happens.”

Tsukishima walks ahead of him, Kuroo shadows him as they weave their way further into the woods. They eventually fall into step, their hands brushing from their proximity. Tsukishima imagines Kuroo being able to hear his thoughts, whether he does or not, the hunter remains silent.

His feet follow an unconscious trail, like there are well worn tracks from a journey he has been so long ago. He traces them with the lines of the sensation crawling beneath his skin. There’s muffled echoing in the back of his mind, words he has yet to find again. Tsukishima purses his lips, wringing his hands together as he flits through all that’s happened.

“Hinata,” he says passed their silence, passed the trees, “Tobio.”

Kuroo’s expression remains unfailingly neutral, there is little movement behind his eyes. He’s well aware of the story of the boy with wings made of wax and his fate from foolishly flying too close to the sun. The story is faithful despite the creative liberties they’ve taken, but he wouldn’t expect any human to have been there to witness it firsthand.

“Are you alright?” Tsukishima halts midstep. He turns to Kuroo, who beats his question before he has the chance to ask. “We both know he isn’t okay. But I don’t know how it’s affected you.”

“I’m,” he starts, gathering whatever words he has left, “I’m fine.”

Whatever Kuroo was meant to say dies dead on his lips. Tsukishima sees the clearing from his peripheral. There are tiny lights dancing around them.

“ _ Fireflies _ .”

The crawling beneath his skin intensifies, the echoes grow louder but Tsukishima cannot hear what they’re saying. He sees flashes in his mind, he knows this place from the earliest memories he has. The woods have grown since then, but the space does not feel as empty as it should.

“What are you doing?” he asks just as Kuroo manages to cup a firefly between his palms. Kuroo motions towards him.

“The moon brings light to the world every night,” Kuroo moves the firefly into one hand while reading for Tsukishima’s with the other. His golden eyes sparkle when they meet his own, “it would only be fair to return the favour.”

He feels his throat go dry. He wants to object, he wants to tell Kuroo that he is wrong— that the moon’s light comes from the sun. That there are days it does not shine. But Kuroo knows that, he’s always known.

“Maybe that’s why you were named after the fireflies.” warm fingers untangle his hands from each other, they guide his palm open and he feels the slight tickle of the firefly resting on it, “to remind you that you can produce your own light.”

Something frees the voices, but they remain silent when Tsukishima tries to find a way to tell Kuroo that he’s wrong. He wants to tell Kuroo that the very notion is absurd, but when Kuroo looks at him like that, with the lights in his eyes. When Kuroo says it as though it is the simplest thing in the world, like it’s basic knowledge— Tsukishima finds himself believing it, even for just a moment.

It takes him a little longer to process, but by then, the morning arrives and he is alone.

Kuroo calls the fireflies “ _ kei.” _

* * *

The night embraces the day, the sun falls, but it does not bleed red that day.

Hinata is not as warm as he anticipated— not as warm as he knew him to be. He feels the residue of heat that’s recently begun to flicker. The moon holds the sun closer, and together, they share warmth.

* * *

“Why do you come back every night?” Tsukishima asks when they’re staring up at the sky, pretending to make sense of the clouds. “Aren’t there better things you could be doing?”

“Like what?”

Tsukishima plucks the grass beneath them, letting the blades flutter in the wind. “Sleeping? I was aware it was essential for humans.”

“I sleep during the day and besides, you say that as though I don’t enjoy your company.” 

“Kuroo.”

Kuroo peers at him from the corner of his eye.

“Are you lonely?”

The hunter inhales, he looks up at the sky again. It takes several beats before he answers. “Not as much as I thought I was.”

“How so?”

Kuroo shifts his gaze back to him, his head tilting slightly, “because I know you’re always there. Even when most people don’t know that. Even if they can’t— I see you.”

Tsukishima swallows past the lump in his throat. The blades break in his fingers, but he lets them fall back onto the ground. Soft whispers murmur in the back of his mind, he has yet to recognize the voice, but it compels him to listen. It seems to slip past his mind and speak on his behalf.

“What does ‘love’ feel like?”

“Love,” his eyes do not leave the sky, “love can be a lot of different things.”

“Love can be family, like how a fawn will always return to its mother. Love can be a friend, like finding a part of yourself in someone else. Love can be how the moon waits for the sun once it sets, it can be in the way the night covers the day as the world grows colder. Love is subjective, abstract, it’s what you make of it.”

The breeze urges him forward, against all reason, in the midst of such uncertainty— Tsukishima cannot stop the words stumbling from his lips. “Do you love me?”

He records the achingly slow movements Kuroo takes to look at him, the pause he takes and the unplaceable movements behind his golden eyes. He can sense Kuroo looking over his words, delicately piecing them together before he replies, “I love you in a way I don’t understand.”

Despite it all, Tsukishima laughs. “You’re very human, it’s nothing difficult to understand” he says breathlessly, and for once he is certain. He suddenly remembers the strange grey area his semi omnipotence falls in. He still doesn’t know what they’re calling him now, but let them linger in their ignorance. There is only one thing Tsukishima is certain of at that moment. “You love me just as I love you.”

He doesn’t have all the details, but that’s all it comes down to in the end. There is nothing they can compare this affection to. No stars to make promises to, nothing to swear by. If this phenomenon is to be called love, then let it only be defined as it is. Let it be defined as him loving Kuroo as Kuroo loves him.

Kuroo’s eyes widen slightly, but a smile finds its way onto his features with ease. A hand moves to hold his own, Kuroo tells him it’s something a bit like a hug, but a bit more intimate. Tsukishima doesn’t mind the specifics when he leans closer to the huntsman and his head fits into the crook of Kuroo’s neck perfectly.

When the dawn comes and the stars have fallen, he finds Kuroo is fast asleep in his arms.

* * *

He’s on the hilltop again, looking over the town, but it’s more people watching more than anything. Tsukishima is sure Kuroo won’t be awake until noon, so he opts for alternating between the clouds, the daily interactions between the people, and his own thoughts. He wonders how long it’s been since he had believed he was stuck in a monochromatic loop, how long it’s been since the unprecedented encounter in the woods. It’s strange, he thinks, how life as he knew it shifted off its axis when he stumbled upon Kuroo. When Kuroo stubbornly decided to stay.

He’s heard the phenomenon has been termed  _ serendipity,  _ the chance of finding something valuable without seeking. He wonders if it is by this serendipitous happenstance that he found what he knows to be love in the huntsman.

The wind whistles harder, passing him within the blink of an eye— but it’s enough to carry the whispers loud and clear.

_ “One day, you will find someone.” _

Tsukishima is on his feet before he hears the end of the sentence. He knows this voice. He knows it from the phantoms of conversations they had a lifetime ago. He knows it like a bird call he traces in the woods but has yet to remember its name. He knows it like a scar tingles from the wound that caused it.

The morning does nothing to melt the cold growing in his limbs, it does nothing to silence the agonies screaming in his ears. He whirls around, trying to find the source, trying to find the voice that’s so clear in his ears. 

“ _ You will find someone who loves you more than anything else in this world.” _

He’s tripping over himself on the shore. Orange light glows in the distance, the sand sinks beneath his feet and the waves wash past his ankles. He’s pushing through the tide before he takes a step on the water’s surface, his steps are heavier when something breaks though the imaginary cracks in his skin.

There’s a lightning strike that hits him, a hole that is swallowing him whole, but he forces himself to where the sun meets the sea. Tsukishima manages to take himself apart before he stands metres away from Hinata. He doesn’t want to put himself together, he doesn’t want to see the answer in himself. But Hinata’s tears convict him, and he realizes he wouldn't have been able to avoid it either way.

“You loved him,” Tsukishima says in a dying man’s breath, “you loved him.”

Hinata merely tilts his chin up at him. How does everyone look at him in that way? How did they manage to see his epiphanies as though it were a common fact? How did he miss so much? Was there light could he not see?

“You say that like you’ve never loved anyone before?” The game is over before Tsukishima takes a seat. “You loved Akiteru, didn’t you?”

_ “Kei, are you listening?” _

Thunder claps without rain. Tsukishima turns away and does not look back.

* * *

“Tsukishima!”

There were no tears to be shed that night, but Tsukishima remains in the sky. He uses the little willpower he has left to block the calls out. He ignores the soft voice that wants him to come down, but he’s long professed his apostasy. The night resumes in silence. Tsukishima does not mind, he was always destined to be alone.

It’s cut wide open by the arrow that pierces itself in the sky beside him. He reaches to pull it free, extending his hand to let the parchment fall into his palm.

_ It would be a shame to waste such a fine night. _

_ Will you share it with me? _

_ I’m not sure if my words can reach you from so far away _

_ But if I were to profess my love for you, _

_ Would you come down to me? _

Kuroo looks so much smaller from so far away. And Tsukishima wants to curse him, he wants omnipotence over omens so he can make this damned hunter leave him alone. So Kuroo wouldn’t have to look at him with eyes like the stars, so Kuroo would know better than to love someone like him. But Tsukishima can’t do a thing. He can do nothing but move against all the rationality he has abandoned. He falls gracelessly into Kuroo’s embrace, and Kuroo holds him without the intention of ever letting go.

“I’m afraid,” Tsukisima says into Kuroo’s shoulder, “Kuroo I’m scared.”

The lights had gone out once, he doesn’t know if he can survive another age in the dark. He doesn’t know if he can take it, he doesn’t want to know. He thinks himself a fool, because one day, one day Kuroo will die. One day he will be all alone. How could he subject himself to such ignorance? How had he allowed himself to fall so far down?

“I’m here, Tsukishima,” Kuroo whispers beside his head, “I’m right here.”

_ “I’m sorry, Kei.” _

“Stay,” Tsukishima pleads, both to his memory and the man he is holding onto for dear life, “stay with me.” He feels younger, he feels smaller, he feels afraid. Kuroo presses his lips on the crown of his head, bringing Tsukishima as close as he can. Tsukishima feels the fastidious beating of his heart.

“I’m right here, I’m here with you.”

Let him be the fool who believes in the word of man. Let him be the fool who overlooks the world in favour of this moment. Let them all be damned, let the heavens take pity on them. Let him have this. Let him stay right here. Let him love Kuroo.

* * *

_ “Kei, are you listening?” _

_ Tsukishima looks up at his brother. There are rays of light that shine when Akiteru smiles down at him. He takes the hand that encompasses his own, and they walk alongside the fireflies. _

_ “One day, you will meet someone. You will meet someone who loves you more than anything else in the world,” he doesn’t understand the magnitude of Akiteru’s words, nor can he imagine the distance his gaze reaches. Some part of him thinks his brother can see the future. _

_ “How will I know? If I ever meet them, how will I know?” _

_ Akiteru’s smile is wistful, “I would say there isn’t a clear way of knowing. But I know this person will be made just for you.” He squats down to cup the fireflies in his hand. He releases them into the clear sky. “You will know because they will call the fireflies by your name. Because when they see them, they will think of nothing but you.” _

_ “You say the strangest things,” his brother laughs at that. _

_ “You’re right, forgive me, Kei.” _

* * *

The fireflies take flight. Tsukishima stands in the meadow while the stars shine above him. A bittersweet reminder, a cruel joke. They are the last remnants of his brother he has left, but he brings himself to hate them. Akiteru’s light went out a long time ago, he doesn’t need the false hope of it ever shining again.

He lets time pass as he watches the fireflies dance against the dark sky. He lets his mind fall still, and the bittersweet aftertaste of the memory fade. Slowly, he lets Akiteru go, with unsaid words carrying into a space he cannot follow.

From the corner of his eye, he spots trails of smoke. He hears crashing, he smells burning and he finds the sun crashing onto the forest floor, the grass alight with the steps he took.

“Hinata?”

Hinata is struggling for breath, far too bright in this quiet corner of the forest. Tsukishima walks to him and the sun grabs onto his wrists, eyes wide and voice distraught. He only has to say a name before Tsukishima pulls away sharply, leaving him behind as he forces his feet forward.

He feels the world stop. It must have. He doesn’t know how it could’ve kept moving, he doesn’t know how he could have. Bright crimson sticks out against the greenery. It’s far too saturated, far too prominent. Tsukishima trips over himself, it’s like he’s slipping on sand as he chases the waves as they pull further and further away. He reaches for them, only for the water to slip from between his fingers.

_ “I’m sorry, Kei.” _

Kuroo is covered in red, his eyes half lidded as he stares at the space in front of him. There is nothing there. His throat goes dry and he feels weightless. He reaches for Kuroo’s hand, it takes too much effort to lift into his own. His palm is ice cold.

Tsukishima pulls Kuroo up, bringing him closer, embracing him as they had done so many times. He barely hears himself pleading for him to wake up over the static in his ears. There is no beating reverberating against his own chest. He holds Kuroo’s face in his stained hands. The gold does not glint. The light behind them has extinguished.

He cries to the heavens for anyone who is listening. He pleads until his voice fails him and he can do nothing but hold the body that once housed his love. He sits there, not knowing what else he can do. He holds Kuroo when the darkness takes a hold of him.

* * *

Oblivion, he thinks, is a privilege that is short lived.

Tsukishima does not move from where he is in the sky, but there is no light, and Tsukishima could care less. The moon leaves the sky that is littered in stars.

He wants to stop caring, he thinks he already has. He wants to slip beneath oblivion’s blanket once more, unsure when he will let himself leave. But he doesn’t. He remains, and he listens.

He hears about what they’re calling the stars. He hears about the patterns they are drawing, the meanings there are making for themselves. And he laughs. He laughs and cares not for who hears him. He screams, he tears himself apart. The stars mean nothing, the stars are no divine stars from above. It is his pain, it is his alone and let them all be damned. No matter what image they paint in the sky, nothing they do will bring Kuroo back to him. No prediction will end with Kuroo in his arms again.

Darkness drowns the world, and Tsukishima succumbs.

* * *

He doesn’t expect everything to be so bright.

The afterlife is a bit like it was commonly described. He finds himself amongst the souls who have passed some time before him, they traverse the meadows without the prospect of pain to burden them. Kuroo goes with the tide, he speaks to family members, to ancestors. He shares in their laughter, their recountment of life and the joy of their reunion. Some remark of his youth, but it’s free of maliciousness and more of light-hearted teasing.

It’s peaceful, euphoric almost. Kuroo feels as though the outer part of himself has been chipped away, leaving only the truest parts of his soul. It’s freeing.

But he finds himself standing against the waves. The water rushes against his back, but eventually diverts its path around him and continues to flow forward. Once again, he feels out of place. It’s laughable, really, of all places to experience the sensation again.

It doesn’t take long for him to figure it out. While everyone continued onward, toward the distant sea of eternity— Kuroo stops to stare at the sky. It’s blank, just a bright light that stretches over the landscape. He does not find stars, he does not find the moon. He does not see Tsukishima.

As sappy as it is, Kuroo can’t help but feel the loneliness carry itself over from his previous life. There is no pain, per say, but there is an unfilled chasm within him, an awkward space that follows him wherever he goes. His family takes notice, they tell him it’s an expected phase everyone goes through. But Tsukishima cannot follow him to where he’s gone, Tsukishima will continue as life does.

There is so much more he should have told him, so much more he could have done. He won’t be there to comfort Tsukishima past the grief, he won’t be there on the nights the moon can’t bring himself to rise. He won’t be there to wipe the stars from his eyes. Kuroo and Tsukishima are worlds apart, he can’t help but accept the fact that they may never see each other again.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, how many days he spends staring up into a skyless void. The tides aren’t strong enough to carry him, so he drifts in the open sea. He thinks of all the truths untold, the words unspoken. He thinks of amber eyes, sly remarks and unfiltered smiles. He commits the memories of the sky into his soul.

Something stirs him with the crowd that gathers by the entrance to the valley. He thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him. When the souls disperse, he runs toward the field separating the rest of the underworld from the meadows. It isn’t possible, Kuroo can’t bring himself to accept it. How long has it been? When did he pass? How—

“Kenma? What on Earth—” thin fingers encircle his wrist and pull his weight forward, ripping him from the land of souls. He does not know how he’s still in once piece. Before his thoughts come flooding in, he reaches forward to pull the shorter man into an embrace. Kenma sighs, patting him three times before Kuroo distances himself.

“We don’t have much time,” Kenma says, they turn to the sound of fluttering, “quickly, follow that crow and don’t look back.”

They run through the passages of the underworld and past the tunnels until they hear the familiar sounds of rushing water. Kuroo keeps his eyes on the corvid, he and Kenma help each other into a boat the crow perches itself on. It lurches forward and rows against the tide.

“Kenma, what are you doing here?” Kuroo asks once he dares himself to breathe.

“Bringing you back, of course,” his features narrow slightly, “did you think I’d let you live down dying so carelessly?”

“How?”

Kenma eyes him skeptically, “You know, for someone who spent his days in the afterlife wallowing, you seem very hesitant to leave.”

Kuroo huffs, crossing his arms, but he can’t help but let amusement creep up on him. It’s been far too long since he’d last been in his closest friend’s company. A moment settles before Kenma resigns and Kuroo wins the round.

“I made a bet with Death, and won, as simple as that.”

A laugh overtakes him, his chest regains its warmth and his stomach aches with the waves that follow before he recovers from the high. “I,” he says between breaths, “I always knew you were a genius.”

Light seeps in from the end of the opening, Kenma hands him his bow and quiver. There are only two arrows, and he is certain they do not belong to him. Kuroo tries not to stumble when he takes his first step into the overworld. The ground remains solid beneath his feet.

Kenma reaches for the crow that has settled on his outstretched arm. It’s only then that he notices its eyes to be as dark as the ocean.

“To the east,” Kenma tells him. Kuroo reaches for an arrow, it shines gold in his hands. He finds the polaris a distance above them, he loads the arrow and pulls the string.

“Follow the arrow,” he closes his eyes, “find the sun.”

It fires, and Tobio takes to the skies once more.

* * *

Kenma tells him about all that’s happened in the days he had died. He tells him of those who mourned, of the tears shed around town. He tells him about the littles things, the calm before the storm.

“The moon hasn’t risen,” he says, and that’s when he notices the sky littered with stars. Kenma tells him about how the Sun seems to drown in the sea, how the days are somber and the nights are enveloped in darkness. He tells him of the way he won against death, of the system they created as a compromise.

“I convinced Death to bring Tobio back so he can accompany the sun. So as long as the sun rises, the balance is restored.” Kenma stops walking, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For not fighting hard enough.”

The breath he heaves is heavy, but he isn’t sure he can bring himself to cry like this. “You’ve done more than enough for me, Kenma. If anything, I should be thanking you.”

“The best I could do was create a cycle,” a finger is pointed to the sky, “the moon waxes and wanes depending on how much light it receives from the sun. But there will be intervals when the moon does not provide any light. It is within these intervals that you can come back to the overworld. Just like tonight.”

They stop at a clearing in the woods, he faintly wonders how far away they are from where he died. He doesn’t have time to linger on his thoughts when he spots him, hovering in his place in the sky with the stars in his eyes.

“I’ve decided to call it the ‘new’ moon,” Kenma states, following his gaze, “it is your job to accompany the moon during these nights.” He pats Kuroo on the shoulder before begins to walk away, “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Thank you, Kenma.”

There’s the trace of a smile.

“Aim true, Kuro.”

-

Tsukishima barely registers a cut in the wind, nothing stirs him anymore. His movements are slower, his senses dulled. He barely manages to pluck the arrow from the sky.

A leaf unravels in his hand and the fireflies escape from within the enclosure, he thinks it’s another cruel joke, another trick. But the script on the parchment is unmistakable.

_ Look how they shine for you. _

Tsukishima is on the ground before he even knows he’s falling. He lands in the field, he lands on the grass and the fireflies hustle around him. The soft voice tugs at the strings of the soul he isn’t sure he has. He barely manages to push himself up off the ground. But it’s all far too real.

Kuroo catches Tsukishima in his arms and they hold each other for dear life, as though the whole world would slip away if they let go. Warmth engulfs him, he takes it all in, he buries his face in Kuroo’s neck. He counts each punctuated beat in the chest pressed against his own. He brings his hands up, running his thumb over Kuroo’s cheek.

“I love you,” Kuroo utters in the minute space between them, “I should have told you more.”

Tsukishima shakes his head, words surfacing in spilling tears, “pay attention next time.”

He doesn’t know what they’ll call this, he does not care what they believe. Maybe that’s the irony of it all. Because when Kuroo moves to fill the gap between them, Tsukishima knows exactly who he is. He is the moon who found love in a hunter. He is the moon that finds the brightest lights in Kuroo’s eyes.

The stars fall somewhere over the earth, showering the world in radiance.

And it was all yellow.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been sitting in the several tabs in my brain for quite a while. I originally came up with the Moon falling in love with Orion for a short story for English Class. It was centred around Greek mythology, but I decided to deviate from sticking too closely to it for this story. I wanted the setting to be a little miscellaneous, though it is heavily based on it. I sort of hinted at it being in Japan, but this whole story is an amalgamation of creative liberties. I constructed the plot as I began writing this for Kou’s birthday. I used Yellow by Coldplay because it is endearingly poetic and as I mentioned, happens to line up with Kou’s favourite colour.  
> All the love goes to Kou, I hope I did the boys justice.  
> This was a pretty fun experience since it got me writing everyday for about a week so I can hopefully get more fics up now.  
> Again, have an awesome birthday Kou!! Go drop her some love if you haven’t already [Kou’s Insta](https://www.instagram.com/kou.xhii/) [Kou’s Twitter](https://twitter.com/kouxhii)   
> My links : twitter insta
> 
> Have a good one everyone, hope you all are safe and thank you for reading.


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